Everything's Made to Be Broken
by Lyra Silvertongue
Summary: A series of brief vignettes describing the lives of Marisa Stevenson Coulter and her four sisters. New vignettes will be added on regularly. Please R&R!!
1. Bedtime Story-POV Marisa

~POV: Marisa~  
  
When I was a small child, I used to go to my mother's chamber every night, where she would sit me down in her cushioned red velvet chair and brush my long black hair with her wooden brush. As she brushed, she would tell me stories, stories which always ended with, "And the beautiful young girl married the rich man (or prince, or lord, or king) and lived happily ever after." One night, I asked her, "But Mother, why didn't the girl marry the handsome stable boy? Why did she marry the prince?" Mother smiled at me, her smile sweet and patronizing. "Little Mari..you're so young..so very young. Too young to understand.."  
I dreaded the words "You wouldn't understand" more than any others as a child. I still do, in fact....how can anyone know what a person can understand until they ask? When I was nine, after Father died, Mother finally explained to me why the girls in her stories always married the rich men. "Power is everything, my child," she would say to me. "A rich man can provide you with far more power than a poor man, and marriage is the only way that women can achieve power in this world, Marisa." This confused me quite a bit, so I did what I always did when something confused me: consulted my older sisters. I went first to my oldest sister, Marlena. When I asked her what Mother meant by her comment, Marlena rolled her eyes and said, "How the hell should I know, Mari? Mom's an idiot!" That was a typical Marlena answer to any question concerning Mother. At age fourteen, Marlena's rebellious teen stage was in full swing. According to Laney (my nickname for Marlena), anything that Mother said was rubbish that didn't even deserve acknowledgement. Obviously, she would be of no help in solving this mystery.  
After talking to Laney, I consulted my next-to-oldest sister, Lorena. Lorena had always been something of a confidante to me. I told her every concern, fear, hope, wish, and thought that passed through my head. More than anything else in the world, I longed to be Lorena. At eleven years old, she was already by far the most beautiful girl that I had ever seen. With her curly chocolate-colored hair, ivory skin, and violet eyes, Lorena was Mother's prize child, her favorite. When I asked Lori what Mother meant, she smiled at me, her eyes filled with a wisdom beyond her eleven years. "Mama wants us to live like little princesses, Mari. She wants us to be able to have anything we want, and she thinks that a rich man can give us more than a poor man can." I nodded, trying to understand. At nine years old, money meant nothing to me. Of course, I knew that we weren't rich. Whenever I went over to my friend Andrew Mackensie's house to play, I saw things there that were far more lavish and ornate than anything that we had. Other than that, money didn't matter to me at all. It wasn't until I was in my mid-teens that I learned the truth in my mother's words, that I learned how much power and money really did matter. 


	2. Broken Glass-POV Lorena

~POV: Lorena~  
  
Once I had a porcelain doll..a lovely little object that I kept on a high shelf above my little bed. I was six years old when my mother lifted the doll off of the shelf and handed it to me, saying, "Lori, love, see how perfect this doll is...she looks just like you, darling. My beautiful little angel, my perfect little girl." She then kissed me and left me sitting on my bed, the doll in my arms. I traced my finger over the curves of the doll's face, observing how flawlessly made it was. As I stared at the dolls face, I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes. This was what Mother was planning to do to me...turn me into a doll, a little pet, who's only use is for aesthetics. That wasn't what I wanted to be..I knew that I was so much more than that, even at the age of six. When this occured to me I held my arms out, looking at the doll for the last time, and let it slip from my fingers and break into shards upon the floor. Kneeling over, I picked up a piece of the doll's face and looked into the lacquered eye, wishing that I could break myself as easily as I broke the doll, for I thought I'd be better off broken then on the shelf for the rest of my life. For years, I allowed myself to forget my discomfort and pain, but now as I look back, I realize how right I was, how at six years old I was a wiser person than I could ever hope to be now 


	3. Ugly Duckling-POV Sarah

~POV: Sarah  
  
All throughout my childhood, I thought of myself as the forgotten one, the ugly duckling. I can remember looking in my little gilt-framed mirror above my desk and turning away in shame, for I would never be as lovely as my sisters. My mother realized this quite early in my life, but she continued to pamper me in the way that she had with my sisters until Papa died. Then she just ignored me altogether, as if any chair with me in it was empty. My sisters were consciously aware of this, but they took pains to never mention Mother's indifference towards me in my presence. Well, all of them except Marlena.  
One morning in May when I was about twelve, I was staring at my reflection in the mirror as I always did, lamenting over my bushy reddish-brown hair and freckled nose, when Marlena poked her head through my doorway, her large, beautiful ebony eyes fixed on me. A cold smile passed across her face as she said, "No use looking in the mirror, Sarah. No matter how long you stare, you'll never be any prettier than you are." She laughed and exited the room, leaving me alone. Tears welled up in my eyes as I stared at my plain face in the mirror. Was Marlena right? Papa had always said that true beauty comes from within, but whenever I was around Marlena, I had a very hard time in believing that.  
As I grew older, I became used to such treatment from my eldest sister. I knew that Marlena had some issues, as well as a defined mean streak, and I willed myself into believing that she didn't really mean it. Of course, I knew she did, but I needed this false confidence to get me through the days.   
When I turned eighteen, I left my home and traveled to a small town far away from my family, never to contact them again. I haven't spoken to any of my family members in twelve years. What's more, I didn't even attend the funeral of my mother, a fact which brings me constant regret, guilt, and pain every day of my life. Ironically, I, Sarah, the plain one, am the only Stevenson daughter to be blessed with a loving marriage. Now I teach my son to always be confident in who he is, and to never try to change himself for anyone. I don't want him to make the same mistakes I made, heaven forbid. 


End file.
